June 16, 2023, Letters from the Nest
https://lettersfromthenest.substack.com/p/the-work-of-the-weary
Dear Progeny,
How many times have you walked in on me “meditating?” It’s probably more times than you have walked in on me praying. You’re experienced enough to know that when I’m meditating, I look like how most people look when napping. Okay, fine, I AM napping. Potato, potato. (Okay, now I’m giggling while writing this letter/essay thingy because I imagine you reading “potato, potato” and not getting it. Does it help if I write tomato tomato? No?)
The ideal meditation location is warm and quiet. I seek sunny spots like a cat in winter. If clouds abound, I’ll give in to the darkness and wrap up in my black Sherpa with the hood up.
Sometimes, rest is intentional. Usually, though, it comes after a fight with an overwhelming to-do list. Often, I slip into unconsciousness on long car rides (when I’m not driving, of course). You’ll shout something about dying of heat in the back-back seat, the stupid music we’re listening to, or how you’re starving for a snack, and I’ll mumble, “I’m meditating.”
I thought my fatigue-filled years would pass when, after about twenty years, I graduated from the School of Pregnancy, Newborn, and Toddlers. Unfortunately (and fortunately, but not when talking about fatigue), I have been enrolled in double and triple majors in Teenager, Failure to Launch, and Pre-Adult Seceding the Union. Oh, the anxiety of it all! Who could sleep with the late-night counseling with my handsome and earnest parenting partner? And then, there are the pre-menopausal hormones causing night sweats, insomnia, and nightmares.
There is so much I want to do. I have such good intentions. And since I’m not feeding a newborn every few hours or chasing after a toddler, I should be able to do those things, right?
My Grandma Della dealt with health challenges her whole life. She was a great lady with a strong spirit and a loving heart. I know she wanted to serve, lift, and love others every minute she could, but I can tell from reading between the lines of her journal and reports from her daughter (my mom) that she fought fatigue for most of her adult years. She used to say, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
I want to be the kind of mom and mother-in-law who can help my young adult kids move across the country or town, take the grandkids out for ice cream, or help an overwhelmed kid re-organize their garage. When a new grand baby is born or a family member is sick, I want to show up and conquer those piles of laundry, make meals, and keep the house running so that peace and recovery are possible. I want to give rest to the weary. But what if I’m too weary for all that? Will I be a disappointment?
I haven’t felt quite like myself the past few days. Maybe it’s a virus. Maybe it’s something else. Probably, it’s a combo. You asked me how I was doing, and I said, “I feel like a noodle.” You said, “I have noodle days too.” That made me feel better because doesn’t everybody have noodle days?
As my pasta limbs and eyelids droop, I ponder all the things I haven’t done, all the things I push aside until, until, until.
The weight of unmet expectations (my own and others) threatens to push me under. The shadows creep in. The dark voice says, “You’re not showing up.”
I fight that dark feeling because I know where it leads. A dive. A spiral. It’s damning rather than expanding.
So, I engage a tool I’ve learned to resist the slide into depression. Question the negative thoughts. Turn them on their head.
Instead of, “Look at everything you haven’t done.” I counter, “Look at all you HAVE done.”
It amounts to quite a lot. Many things get done when I’m not feeling that great. I think of the percentage of time I spend not feeling 100 percent well--whether it be migraine, sleep deprivation, virus, anxiety overload, you name it. I’m guessing the amount of time I’m bothered by something exceeds the amount of time I’m not. I mean, who functions at peak performance all of the time? If I waited until I felt great to unload the dishwasher, throw in a load of laundry, pick up a kid from school, run to the grocery store, or do any of the mundane but necessary tasks that keep a family afloat, we wouldn’t have a family.
The truth is I’m showing up all the time, even when I rather not.
I’m not self-centered enough to think I’m the only one who goes about life this way. I think of other people I see at the grocery store, yawning as they push their carts. I consider others in their necessary life pursuits and activities—the cashier, the pharmacy technician, the construction worker, medical professional, librarian, scholar, caregiver, and teacher. Anybody who works gets weary.
Winston Churchill is credited with saying, “Most of the world’s work is done by people who don’t feel very well.” Isn’t that the truth?
So even though you might not feel very well—you might be tired, disappointed, sick, or overwhelmed—do what you can. Do the things anyway--at least some of them. Because, most of the time, that’s how anything gets done anyway.
Keep doing worthwhile work, even the work of the weary. Know your work matters. You’re seen. You’re loved. I’m tired too, but I’m on my way to help. We’ll do the work of the weary together.
Love,
Mom
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